


bitter, bitter

by roseticos



Series: don't tell me how to live my afterlife! [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety Attacks, Bang Chan & Lee Minho | Lee Know are Best Friends, Gen, Ghost!Jisung, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, That's basically what it is, because I said so, jisung is the only one dead, minho doesn't take care of himself, minho isn't dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:19:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseticos/pseuds/roseticos
Summary: It only makes sense for Jisung to come back in the middle of his breakdown. Leave it to Minho to hallucinate his imaginary dream boy when he’s on thebrinkof doing something he shouldn’t. He’s shaking in his desk chair so Jisunghasto appear on his bed and look at him likehe'sthe crazy one.-minho is still counting the days until he graduates, passively letting his grip on what he considers okay become looser and looser. but at least he’ll always have his two am panic attacks and the boy that no one else can see.





	1. insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> in case i didn't make it clear enough- minho doesn't know that jisung is a ghost and just thinks he's an imaginary friend. i love minho i'm so sorry i've done this to him.
> 
> **tw: suicidal thoughts**

“I wonder if jumping from this high up would kill me.”

There are three things that Minho knows Chan should never be allowed to say, and that is one of them. If you’re wondering, the other two are, _“Can I yeet myself off a cliff?”_ and _“I had an anxiety attack instead of sleeping,”_ but it’s not like Minho is counting how many times the blasted phrases come out of his mouth.

Of course, there isn’t much for the junior to say when they do because he’s in the same boat. Minho never thought physics could be so stressful, but here they are, standing at their lab table and staring wistfully out the window and seriously contemplating the damage their bodies would take from a fall out of the science building’s second story window. It’s tempting. Really tempting. But Minho doesn’t want to encourage Chan any more than he already does, and he can’t pass this lab if he’s dead.

Then again, if he’s dead, he’ll be exempt.

Instead of defending Chan’s life like he usually would, Minho gives a noncommittal hum. “Do you think Mr. Kim would know?” Minho speaks of their teacher, who happens to be watching warily from across the room, “That’s a physics question, right? Can we ask that?”

“What’s up with you?” Chan chuckles, finally tearing his longing gaze away from the view outside and glancing worriedly at his younger friend, “By now I should have a bruise on my arm for threatening my own life.”

“I seriously don’t know anymore, hyung,” the junior lies. He got two hours of sleep after bullshitting a history essay on the effects of American influence and talking to the boy he likes to hallucinate at two in the morning— and not necessarily in that order, either. After almost falling asleep on his math test and then taking a twenty minute nap during lunch, today is getting a no from Minho. But it’s not over, yet.

Minho is just about to turn back to his lab instructions when Chan smacks his arm roughly. Scowling, the junior looks up, initially to yell at his friend, but then to fake a smile at his teacher standing in front of their table.

“Boys, how’s it going over here? Making good progress?” Mr. Kim asks with full knowledge that neither of them have even written their names on the paper.

Minho hasn’t forgotten this or what they were supposed to be doing and laughs it off, “Yes, but we were just wondering what kind of injuries jumping out the window would lead to. You know, the lab being about dropping things and all—“

“I can assure you that they’re lethal, but if you’re really curious, you’ll want to ask someone in forensics down the hall. Either way, it’s not getting your lab done. Just because it’s the last class period, it doesn’t mean you can goof off.”

And because he’s a suck-up afraid of authority, Chan's reply drips with sickening enthusiasm, “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Kim!” And because Minho doesn’t care anymore, he elbows him to mumble the same.

Mr. Kim raises an eyebrow to show he doesn’t buy their bullshit before floating over to a different table. As soon as he’s gone, the pair deflate, and Minho groans. Equations are the last thing he cares about right now, whether they’re a part of his major grade or not. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can pass the lab off to Chan today, get some real sleep, and finish the rest before it’s due tomorrow.

Sounds like a plan.

Chan doesn’t realize that he’s been conned until the final bell rings, but by then, it’s too late. Minho bolts out of the classroom before he can get smacked upside the head. Knowing he’ll be followed, the junior skips the inside staircase entirely and runs the opposite direction down the hallway to the door leading outside. Without wasting a second, he kicks open the door with a kind of dramatic flair only Felix can rival.

Still slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Minho takes on the outdoor stairs two steps at a time. He barely registers the door behind him opening, Chan spouting curses at him like he’s just been shot in the foot. Minho spins around to goad his best friend, ready to turn the corner of the building so he can run home— only to be socked in the face by a violin case.

Woojin stands above a fallen Minho with a smirk, watching with no pity as the younger clutches his jaw and groans.

“Isn’t this assault?” Minho whines.

“Not if you don’t get caught,” Chan exclaims.

“God, I hate both of you,” Woojin deadpans.

The oldest senior hefts his instrument case with a sigh, making a jabbing motion with it towards Chan, who flinches. Minho drags himself up from the pavement and kicks Chan in the shin, and the other lunges forward. Sensing the impending tussle between them Woojin yanks the youngest back and glares at Chan. He doesn’t look happy.

“Listen, fucks,” he pretty much growls, “We’re leaving before we get yelled at.”

“Okay, Dad,” Minho says, and Woojin takes a long, deep breath before he lets the youngest go. Chan snickers.

As soon as Minho has collected himself again, Chan shoots him a shit-eating grin, “Last one to Minho’s is carrying Woojin’s violin home tomorrow.” And then he takes off, the junior reacting a second late before chasing after him down the sidewalk.

Chan pulls this shit all the time, but Minho would sooner expect it from Changbin— though the two hang out a lot, so he can’t say he’s _really_ surprised.

The last one to make it to Minho’s house in the neighborhood closest to the school is— ironically— Woojin. Upon spotting the grass of his yard, Chan decided to lay down, Minho joining him soon after to catch his breath. Once he arrives, Woojin walks past them without a glance, digging around in a potted plant for the spare key.

Minho throws each of them a bag of Goldfish and a Capri Sun, “You guys have fifteen minutes here and then you have to leave. I have stuff to do.”

Woojin hums and stabs his juice pouch, drinking the whole thing in one go before slipping the food into the pocket of his violin case. He seems considerably more comfortable after this, and Minho really can’t blame him.

Meanwhile, Chan has no problem with taking his sweet time, but Minho can’t really blame him, either. Both have their own way of destressing, and it’s clear that Chan would rather stay with Minho to get a couple of hugs out of him while Woojin is ready to go home so he can cry in peace.

Minho just wants to be home alone so he can talk with who he likes to think is his imaginary friend. Having seen him all his life, he assumes that’s what’s going on— that, or he’s crazy. Once he realized that no one else saw him after an incident involving a lot of vague pointing, he decided to keep that to himself. It’s a secret he has a hell of a time trying to keep, but he thinks it’s worth it.

He can see him now. Hoisting himself on the kitchen counter, Minho stares down his couch and the boy sitting on it. Beside him, Chan catches him looking, but doesn’t do anything about it.

(After being friends with him for several years, he assumes that his younger zones out easily, when that really isn’t the case. Minho just likes looking at his nonexistent friend a lot, whether it freaks his real friends out or not. No has said anything about it yet, so he thinks he’s okay.)

Slowly munching on his snack, Chan looks down, “Don’t you want the company of your friends? I can be out of the way.”

“That’s the last thing you can do,” Woojin points out, “You know the type of week we’ve all had, just let him be.”

“And let you win? No way.”

“I swear to God, just come over to my house instead.”

“Fine, bitch, be that way.”

Not really paying attention to their bickering, Minho narrows his eyes at the boy. As if teasing him, the boy widens his eyes back, leaning forward to make weird faces at the junior before dissipating into thin air. It’s then that Minho can finally tune back in, listening to the argument next to him just in time to keep Chan from hopping off the counter to lunge at the eldest’s neck.

-

-

The front door closes with a _click_ , and Minho leans against it, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. His friends had taken every second out of him that they could, not wanting to leave soon enough. Eventually, Chan was dragged out by Woojin, who was muttering something about having an audition soon and not wanting to deal with his friends’ shit.

Minho is just glad they’re gone, and that his parents won’t be home for several hours.

“Jisung?” he calls, hoping his imagination will give him a little sympathy.

A set of eyes materialize in front of him, and Minho curses softly at Jisung for the surprise. The blond in front of him puffs his cheeks like a squirrel before leaning back to sit on the floor. He looks like a dream, the way he always has, with his gray sweatshirt and dark shorts, not to mention those socks— the ones with the yellow stripes. Fiddling with his earring, Jisung pouts at his companion.

“Didn’t you want them gone so you could work?” he wonders aloud, sounding almost disgusted that Minho— an avid liar— would lie about something like that.

“No, you assume too much” Minho gripes, “I wanted to talk to you.”

A scoff, “Yeah, because you’d look insane if you talked to me in front of them, right? You always do that, Minho. Dude, they can’t even see me.”

“But I can. And I wanted to talk to you because you’re my friend, too.”

With a roll of his eyes, the usually bubbly Jisung disappears, and Minho is alone. Again. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he doesn’t appreciate his efforts getting shrugged off like his physics lab. It’s disappointing.

-

-

It’s three in the morning, and it’s time for Minho’s panic attack.

His head is pounding and the tears are blurring his homework answers, dread washing over his body and he just wants to sleep and never wake back up. It’s hard to rest when he can’t stop thinking about how much work he has to do, so he takes his insomnia and turns it into something productive.

Minho never thought it would come to this, but here he is, alone at his desk and sobbing over calculus.

Everything hurts. His head, his heart, his hand. When Chan texted him goodnight four hours ago, Minho didn’t think anything of it, but now he knows he’s stupid for thinking he could finish everything and still get enough sleep to function the next day.

He’s an _idiot_. The only thing that surprises him anymore is the fact that no one has said it to his face. Is it just him? Is he the only noticing how little he’s sleeping, how little he’s eating? Minho never thought a worksheet could hurt so much.

He wants to die. And not just jump-out-of-a-window kind of die. More like did-chemistry-teach-me-about-prescription-overdoses kind of die. He just wants to sleep through the next two years of his life and wake up with a high school degree. This is getting too painful for him, and he just wants it to _stop_ before he does something dumb.

“Dude?”

It only makes sense for Jisung to come back in the middle of his breakdown. Leave it to Minho to hallucinate his imaginary dream boy when he’s on the _brink_ of doing something he shouldn’t. He’s shaking in his desk chair so Jisung _has_ to appear on his bed and look at him like _he’s_ the crazy one.

“Hey, Minho. Minho. Look at me. Min—“

Minho twitches, albeit a little aggressively because his leg jerks and kicks the leg of his desk. The rattle prompts his mug of pens to fall, strewing the utensils across the carpet. If anything this makes Minho want to scream, but he can’t do that at three in the morning.

There is a short silence as an unsettled Jisung observes him. Hoping to avoid the issue at hand, Minho squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to calm the _fuck_ down. Jisung has seen him this way a thousand times but it doesn’t make a difference because Jisung shouldn’t be the one to pick him back up every time. In other words, Minho shouldn’t be the one to rely on his own hallucination.

Is that what he is? His conscience? The timing of his presence lines up comically with the schedule of his breakdowns.  Even after so long he isn’t sure what to make of him.

“Minho, ar—”

“Just— Shut up,” he gasps, “Shut up, Jisung. I can’t.”

He regrets it. He regrets telling Jisung off because he doesn’t deserve that after everything he’s done for him, but he can’t think and he doesn’t need him prodding him. It’s stressful to his cramped little brain that can only hold so many thoughts before it starts boiling over.

And he looks so sad, too. With his floppy blond hair pushed back, Minho can see the sheer concern in his eyes. That bothers him to end, but not as much as the fact that he doesn’t make any move to act on it.

If he swivels his chair, Minho can see the bathroom from his desk and his mother’s pills that have always sat on the counter. He stares for a long ten seconds at the bottles. His thoughts scare him. Jisung watches.

Minho doesn’t remember getting up but the bottle is in his hands, now— his mother’s painkillers just refilled.

He sets them down.

Jisung reappears on the nearby toilet, looking at him like he’s a character in a TV drama. It’s annoying. For reasons he can’t begin to imagine.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Minho hates bitter things but he keeps talking anyway, “Aren’t you going to stop me?”

There’s guilt. So much guilt. The I-almost-overdosed-in-front-of-him kind. Jisung refuses to meet his eye and it hurts just as bad as everything else does. He disappears. Minho crumples.

More than anything, he’s is scared— scared of himself and scared that Jisung won’t hold him back. There’s shouting in his head and it keeps getting louder. He’s crying again but this time it is quiet so as to not wake anyone. When he crawls into bed, Jisung isn’t there, but it feels like someone is holding his shaking hand.

_Minho sleeps for an hour and a half._


	2. question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does he regret scaring two of his closest friends? Yeah. A lot. But does he regret skipping his meals, losing his sleep? He doesn’t feel as much guilt as he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya, back with an overdue update. it's not my best but it's also finished. it's mostly proofread, but i apologize for any mistakes.
> 
>  
> 
> **tw: talks of past suicide, talks about suicidal thoughts, minho has a panic attack and kinda faints**

“I had an anxiety attack instead of sleeping.” 

“Fucking same.”

Minho doesn’t realize Chan has said another thing on his list of _Things Bang Chan Should Never Be Allowed To Say_ because he’s too busy thinking the same goddamn thing. He doesn’t mention the fact that he almost died last night, either. He doesn’t think Chan would want to know.

As usual, Chan looks as bad as Minho feels— hair disheveled, circles under his eyes, skin kind of pale. He looks sick. Minho _feels_ sick. He wonders if he looks the same.

The view outside the second story window is no less inviting than before.

Their lab is due today and out of spite, Chan is forcing Minho to finish the rest of it, even though the junior feels like he’s going to give out. Subtly clutching his arm for support, he mutters through each problem, only really understanding what’s going when Chan agrees with him.

He didn’t eat anything last night or all of today, stealing sips from Changbin’s water bottle and calling it his lunch before sleeping for almost an hour. Chan has extra food, but they’re not allowed to eat in the science classrooms. Mr. Kim glares at every student who tries drink from a water bottle.

Minho is kind of dizzy. And hungry. Frankly, he isn’t sure if he’s about to pass out or not, and he’s trying to remember what it feels like to faint (and if the weakness in his knees and the spinning classroom is something of concern). Maybe Chan remembers because, although he doesn’t mention it, he’s kind of willingly holding him up.

The whole thing is extremely stressful. Minho kind of wants to cry.

“Minho? Hey, man, we finished—”

Relieved (?), the junior lets out a loud noise that resembles something of a cat in pain before burying his head in his hands. He feels like throwing up, but there’s nothing _to_ throw up because he hasn’t _eaten_ , and he’s not looking forward to gagging on nothing. The table spins and his head pounds. Everything is going numb and he doesn’t understand why.

(He does.)

When Chan moves away, Minho slips and nearly busts his head on the corner of the table, but his friend is prepared to catch him before he dies. Somewhat of a disappointment, but he’s more concentrated on standing than his current life status.

(Dying?)

Chan calls over Mr. Kim and explains in a really far away sounding voice that Minho needs to go the nurse as soon as possible and that he’s willing to take him and oh, by the way, here’s the lab you wanted. A distant feeling of panic rises in the junior’s chest at the mention of the nurse; not only is she kind of bad at her job, but she would call his parents. Or the counselor. Or both. The thought makes him feel some kind of way.

(Tense.)

But instead of dragging Minho’s near limp body down the stairs, Chan brings him to the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, laying him down on the most disgusting tile either of them has seen.

As soon as his head hits the floor, Minho takes several deep breaths as darkness clouds his vision. It’s hard to decide if he should give in to that surprisingly calm feeling or if the panic he feels is good because it keeps him awake.

“This is the last time I’m letting this happen,” Chris mutters more to himself than anyone else. “What’s going on with you? Not eating, not sleeping, having a panic attack in the middle of science and passing out in my arms? No sir. Not letting this happen.”

Something cool hits Minho’s forehead and he grumbles, hand reaching out and fumbling to grasp for something that isn’t there. Chan takes his hand, and his grip is tighter than the junior anticipated— but it makes sense. They’re scared.

“Are you okay?” The older hisses, moving the cold, wet paper towel across his face. It helps, strangely enough, but his response comes as a muffled groan because he _isn’t_ okay.

He’s _incredibly_ dizzy. The panic subsides but leaves his stomach in knots. His head is confused and spinning and he feels like it would be better if just slept for a week.

“Minho, what can I do?” Chan clasps his hand and tries to get him to cooperate. “It’s not long before the bell rings and I need to help you.”

What Minho needs is to feel grounded, and Chan helps more than he realizes.

Suddenly, the older pulls him up, grunting underneath his dead weight. Minho finds himself being held, practically cradled in Chan’s arms. It works better than he would have imagined, and the room stills substantially. When his vision focuses, the only thing he can see is the senior’s face.

Minho decides to crack a joke at the worst possible time and act as gay as possible. “Am I dead? Is this heaven?” He dramatically reaches forward and pushes Chan’s face away, smushing his lips underneath his palm.

Instead of being mad at him, Chan is a mixture of relieved and annoyed, “Isn’t that a little much? I swear you could have died in my arms.” Genuine worry swims in his eyes, and Minho— of course— reassured him that he never would have let himself die in the science hall’s boy’s bathroom, in his friend’s arms nonetheless:

“Didn’t you say you had food?” Minho grumbles, stomach swirling. He would appreciate it if he could avoid almost fainting again.

Yeah, he doesn’t want that.

Minho is shoving his face with leftover ramen when the bell rings. Chan is glued to his phone but also to his shoulder, not wanting to leave his side for too long. As the day comes to a close and students pour into the hallways, both cringe as a boy or two enter the bathroom and walk past (including BamBam, who raises an eyebrow at them).

A few minutes later, when the school has been emptied, for the most part, Minho is startled by the pounding of feet in the hallway outside of their hiding place. Having already finished his ramen, he feels better, but could still use a very well deserved nap.

The noise belongs to Felix, a sprightly, oblivious freshman with a heart of gold. He stumbles into the bathroom noisily, panting. He notices the two of them and runs his hand through his blond locks before holding out the bottle of water in his hands.

“I spent my last dollar on this, hyung,” he says. “Please appreciate it.”

“Dumbass, it’s not for me.”

Felix immediately whines, “Then why did you make me get it?”

“ _Because_ Minho almost died,” Chan asserts. Without an explanation for his youngest friend, he takes the bottle and gives— more like shoves— it to the faint junior.

While Minho gapes at his blunt description, Felix is so shocked with concern that he shoulders his backpack off so that it hits the floor. In seconds, his over the junior, feeling his forehead, patting his face. The older shies away. Felix is like this often, but his distress usually comes in a verbal onslaught rather than physical. It’s not like Chan was any help.

“Are you okay? I knew you should’ve been eating something at lunch— you always do this to me, hyung, how am I ever going to make sure you’re okay?” The blond frets over him some more, eventually pulling him into a tight embrace. He’s considerably less put together than Chan had been and sounds like he’s about to cry.

Minho almost feels bad.

“You didn’t have to spend your money on me, Lix,” he wheezes, stuck in the freshman’s tight hug.

“I didn’t— Chan wouldn’t tell me why, I had no idea you were sick—”

“I almost fainted—”

“Jesus _Christ_ , that’s even worse,” Felix sobs.

Much to Minho’s distaste, Felix refuses to let go of him until they reach the junior’s house and Chan is forced to rip him away. Although Minho adores Felix, he almost blacked out during physics, and it was kind of terrifying, so he kind of wants to be alone. Or, as alone as he can be.

He’s not sure if he regrets mistreating himself; he’s not considering it, at the moment. Does he regret scaring two of his closest friends? Yeah. A lot. But does he regret skipping his meals, losing his sleep? He doesn’t feel as much guilt as he should.

His body isn’t used to the abuse. This has been his breaking point.

“Please be careful, Minho,” Chan tells him as he leaves. “We don’t want to see you hurt.”

Knowing how serious the sincerity is, Minho restrains from answering with _Wish I could say the same_.

-

-

It’s ten o’clock, and Minho doesn’t feel like dying.

Probably because of the amount of work he hasn’t done, Minho feels fine. His head feels fuzzy and his muscles are tired but he’s breathing and thinking and eating, so he’s okay. Drained, but fine.

It’s weird. After the night before and his physics fiasco, Minho would have assumed that he would be in a worse mental state. Just to prove himself wrong, he doesn’t feel like jumping out the window or dying in general. Not enough fun, if you ask him.

(Had you asked him the other day, he would have replied that it sounded like great fun.)

It’s weird because he usually doesn’t feel like this. More often than not, he tries to be a good student, and that’s how he stays up until three doing work. It’s the work causing him stress, but he’s not doing any tonight. In fact, he might call in sick tomorrow. If he explains vaguely what happened, his mother will agree that he needs a day to recover.

For now, Minho lays on his bed in content silence. Absorbing how he feels, he tries not to think too much and waits for Jisung to appear. He always appears.

He does so tonight by letting the door to his room drift open, revealing his figure on the other side. Jisung is ready to greet him in a handstand— show off— and Minho can’t help but laugh at him.

“Hey, Min!” he chirps, back to his usual self. He has no idea what happened. With a cute smile, he cocks his head at him. “Feeling better?”

“Ah, well—“

“I hope you are ‘cause, you know, it worries me that I’m too overwhelming or something.” He breaks the handstand, coming down to sit and finger gun him from the floor, “Like, am I too much for you? Not enough support? I know you’re not very strong— we both know you’re kinda weak— but it’s not like you tell me when something’s wrong. It’s fine.”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to worry about me,” Minho presses. It’s a lie and he knows that.

Incredulous, Jisung scoffs, “You make it awfully hard.”

A half-hearted shrug. “I don’t try to make it easy.”

Jisung’s shoulders slouch, but his demeanor shifts into something comfortable. It’s familiar and natural. It’s something Minho hasn’t felt in a while.

The blond makes himself comfortable on his bed; Minho knows he’s tricking himself into thinking the bed dips with his nonexistent weight. His imagination has always pitied him into making Jisung as real as possible.

An apprehensive feeling burrows itself into his gut as he rolls over to face the imaginary boy next to him. The room is cold. Minho sighs into the night.

“Tell me, baby,” Jisung blurts. The phrase is too quiet to be desperate, “When are you happiest?”

“I don’t know,” Minho lies. “I think I’ve forgotten.”

-

-

It feels strange when Jisung runs his fingers through Minho’s hair. His touch is too soft to be completely real, but he can feel it along his scalp, a gentle tug at the dark colored locks.

Minho wraps himself in a few blankets because it’s always colder when Jisung is around. He’s supposed to be falling asleep, but it’s not working. It’s reasonable to guess that the time is nearing midnight, now, but the junior can’t see his clock. The wall stares back at him while Jisung sits behind him. He can’t stop thinking. He can’t sleep.

“Jisung?” His voice cracks in a whisper, gaining the other boy’s attention. “What are you?”

Minho realizes that he’s never asked him this before and notes that the blond’s fingers slow their movements. Before, he had always made an explanation for himself instead of finding out. He has no idea what Jisung is. He always knew him as an imaginary friend, but what if he's... not?

And if he is, shouldn't he finally acknowledge and accept that?

The feeling of Jisung fades and Minho looks up to see that he's moved to the edge of the bed. Away from him. His eyes are brimming with tears and he fears he’s touched the wrong subject, scared him away forever.

“I don't want…” He shoves his hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “I don't want you to be afraid of me, Minnie.”

“Oh, ‘Sungie…” Minho’s heart breaks. He could never be afraid of Jisung, no matter what he is. After being there for his whole life, he doesn’t think he _can_ be. “I couldn’t be.”

“You will be. I can’t lie to you, but everything will change and you’ll never want to see me again. I can’t leave you, Minnie, there’s nowhere for me to g—”

“Stop, please. I want to know.” They’ve put off a conversation like this for too long, and Minho wants nothing between them anymore. He wants security and knowing what this is, if there’s something that he’s been missing all of these years. Contrary to what Jisung thinks, he doesn’t give a flying fuck what he is; the only thing he really wants is to understand. “I have to understand what’s going on because…” _because it’s always been you_.

It’s always been Jisung.

Jisung, who played with his toys and kept him company because he never had anyone to play with when he was little, who told him how to get through school when he was scared on his first day, who sang him to sleep when he had nightmares, who cracked jokes when homework stressed him out, who held his hand when he began to get worse and worse. It’s always been him to pick him up again in his most private moments. It’s always been him that kept him going.

As Jisung battles what to say, Minho sits up and wraps his blankets closer around him. The blond sniffs, the sound soft in Minho’s ears.

“To tell the truth, I’m…” he releases a shaking breath, “I’ve been dead for twenty years.” When Minho doesn’t move to speak, he barrels forward again. “Before you were born, I lived here with my family. A-And I died, and I can’t leave. I tried so many times, but a new family came in, and you were born. I met you, and I knew I couldn’t let the same thing happen to you. I want to be here as a friend, to help you, but I’ve done a shitty job.

“I can’t stop you from feeling how you do. I can’t be with you outside of this home to support you. I’m a weak beam, Minho, because I felt the same things before… before I died. It’s not your fault. Nothing has ever been your fault.

“I’m a ghost. That’s what I am. I was a dumb, suicidal teenager with nothing better to do and now I’m a ghost trying to keep another kid from making the same mistake. I love you so much, Minnie. I just want you to be happy.”

The truth sucks the air from Minho’s lungs, and it’s both freeing and suffocating. He finally knows that he’s not crazy, that Jisung isn’t some product of his imagination. But it means Jisung is the image of a boy who died. Jisung was a _real person_ , and now…

“You’ve been stuck for twenty years?” Minho breathes. “You stayed because of me?”

“I stayed because there was no other option. I want to leave, sometimes I try, but— I just— _can’t_ ,” he explains. “Not by myself, at least. I’m happier like this and that’s what scares me the most, but I don’t want you to end up like this.”

“There has to be something I can do,” Minho says, completely disregarding part of what he said. “I should be able to help you, right? I can see you when nobody else can, that’s got to mean _something_ —”

Jisung’s eyes harden, “I’m not the one who needs help, Minho.” The blond makes sure he’s listening, concern etched into his features. “You are.”

Incredulous, Minho opens and closes his mouth in search of something to respond with, but pulls together nothing as the events of the past two days come together. He lived through another breakdown and Jisung was there to witness it and the subsequent downswing as Minho skipped his meals and got little sleep. Though Jisung couldn’t follow him to school, it didn’t take a genius to gather that it wasn’t much better. He still didn’t know about the physics thing.

“I heard what Chan said,” Jisung offers, shifting closer to the now quiet junior. “They’re worried, too, and you can’t push them out. Just because they’re having a hard time doesn’t mean you have to have one, too. You need to tell someone other than me because _I_ can’t do anything. I’m the _last_ person who should be supporting you, Minho, and I don’t want to see you hurt, either.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he sniffs, wiping the blur from his eyes and avoiding Jisung’s gaze. Minho doesn’t feel like dying but he knows it won’t always be this way. If this continues, he’ll have more days of passing out in the bathroom and making Felix cry. He doesn’t want that. He’s never wanted that.

“W-When I’m happiest,” Minho sobs.

Jisung pauses. “What?”

“You asked me when I’m h-happiest,” he clarifies. _“And I’m happiest when I’m with you.”_


	3. my pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If ghosts can blush Jisung does so in that moment, a feeling of pride blossoming in both of their chests. From now on, things can improve, and Minho is ready to try a few things, feel better about who he is and manage his time.
> 
> With Jisung and Felix and even Chan, Minho knows this feeling can stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minho deserves to get better and so do all of you
> 
> no proofreading we die like men

“Can I yeet myself off a cliff?”

The phrase elicits something in Minho that he isn’t used to feeling, and he blinks as reactions to Changbin’s daily crisis ricochet around the lunch table. 

Hyunjin, just sitting down, grimaces at the distraught sophomore, casting glances at Minho to see if he has his own comment to follow up with. Today, though, Minho’s brain is scrambled. He can’t afford his own anxiety.

Ever dramatic, Hyunjin releases a strangled wail of despair. “Hyung,” he scolds. “You can’t _do_ that.” The freshman cracks open a bottle of apple juice and takes a long swig before slamming it back onto the table, which, unfortunately, sends the sticky drink cascading over its surface and his hand. “It’s illegal,” he states as if they should already know that.

Minho sighs, smacking the freshman over the head as he dodges students in search of some paper towels. When Felix arrives, nearly late, Minho is wiping off Hyunjin’s hands while the younger tries to convince Changbin to “be gay and do crime.”

At the sight of him, the junior’s stomach twists unpleasantly with guilt for the bathroom incident. Minho had never wanted for Felix to see that side of him, but now it’s too late, and he knows he has to do something about it rather than let it sit between them. 

Minho doesn’t know which compulsive bone of his decides to take Felix by the hand and bring him to the corner at the other end of the cafeteria before he can even greet the others. The blond’s eyes are wide, but Minho doesn’t let that stop him from enveloping him in his arms. He shoves his face in the unsuspecting freshman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” spills from his lips, broken and begging.

The junior’s fingers curl in the fabric of his sweatshirt, rake through his blond hair. Felix holds him, puzzled but willing to help. He lets him apologize for something he never meant to do, lets him swallow the lump in his throat.

Guilt threatens to engulf Minho, clawing at his throat. So many things that could have been avoided yesterday happened because of him, and he feels ashamed for accidently forcing Felix into his bullshit.

“I scared you yesterday,” he admits. “You were worried for me and I brushed you off. I’m not going to make excuses for that and I’m so fucking sorry.” He doesn’t want to cry, but it’s hard not to as Felix smoothes back his hair and draws circles on his back, swaying back and forth. He’s always been good at calming others.

“It’s okay,” Felix says, but Minho wants to say that it really isn’t. “I knew you must have been scared, too— I’m not hurt by anything, hyung.”

“You’re supposed to be mad,” the older quips. “You’re supposed to be disappointed.”

“I’m supposed to support you,” is pressed into his hair. “I’m supposed to be proud of you, hyung.”

Something twists in his stomach. “Not like this,” he whispers, distraught. “Felix, never like this.”

Though they pull away from one another, Felix rests his hand on Minho’s arm. Now Minho _really_ wants to cry because Felix shouldn’t be proud of what he’s done. So little of what Minho has done over the year can come close to honorable or just plain _healthy_. It’s a fact: Minho is a bad role model. The junior would sooner have the freshmen look up to Changbin than himself. 

“You should never be proud of this, Felix,” Minho says. “This isn’t honest, this isn’t… this isn’t a good thing— God, I passed out in the bathroom yesterday, and it was _my_ fault. You don’t even know everything, and yet you still suffer because of me. I want to be better. For you. For Hyunjin. And Chan-hyung and Woojin-hyung and Changbin— I want to be better than this—”

This time, it’s Felix who tugs him into a hug, squeezing him until his chest starts to ache with the effort it takes to breathe. Minho should know that Felix feels a lot of everything all the time, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when he sniffles. It still is. He always seems to smile through each emotion he feels. The tears are kind of new.

He pleads into his shirt, soft and sincere, and Minho feels all the more guilty. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I want to help.” His next breath shakes. “Thank you, Minho-hyung.”

-

-

Five minutes before lunch is over, Minho sneaks out of the cafeteria to go to science before Chan does. He climbs the stairs, settles by the water fountain until the bell rings. Trying to fit his words together, he rehearses what he wants to say. 

This is important to him, after all. Chan, his closest friend, is going to hear him say he _wants_ to get better, that it’s stupid of him for him to stop caring about himself. For better or for worse, he wants to _try._ He wants to say that he’s _sorry_. 

Students file from the classrooms as the bell rings, and as others arrive, Minho looks desperately for Chan. After a few minutes, Chan is the one to find him, but rather than go inside, Minho holds him back. 

“Hey, Minho, are you feeling better?” the older smiles, searching Minho’s expression for signs of exhaustion. “Woojin said you were alright this morning.”

Ah, yes. Every day, Woojin is determined to track down the junior before second period. If he doesn’t see him before school, he can leave orchestra early and meet him outside of his classroom. 

Minho can’t say that he minds when the older crushed him in a hug earlier that day. Chan probably told him to do that, but it was nice all the same. Woojin is really good at giving hugs.

“I’m okay. But, hyung—” Minho takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow; his protective side is coming out. “What for? I know you’re going through a rough patch… there’s nothing to be sorry about, okay? You needed help and I was there.” He takes Minho’s hands in his. “Don’t apologize for that, okay?”

He’s being so unbelievably relaxed about this. It’s his way of helping and showing that he’s here for Minho to lean on, but the younger can’t go on much longer like this. Chan has his own problems. There’s only so much he should do for him.

This feels worse than confessing to Felix or even Jisung telling him outright that he needs to do something. Chan is hard to budge, stubborn in his position of taking care of his younger friends. 

“I— you don’t understand, hyung, it’s so much more than that,” Minho explains in earnest. “You should know that it’s _always_ rough. It’s not something I should let happen.”

The grip around his hands loosens and Chan gives him a reassuring smile. “That’s why you _have_ us, Min. So we can help.” 

The older tries to tug him along into the classroom and it’s frustrating to Minho because that’s not what he’s trying to say. He’s tired of being the victim of himself. He’s tired of relying on others, even when they’re not around.

He wants to take care of himself. He wants to be _better_.

What will it take for Chan to understand that? Yesterday, Minho collapsed into his arms from fatigue. Since freshman year, Minho has looked at those pills more times than he can count on his hands. That’s never something to be taken lightly. It’s more than a ‘rough patch’ for Minho. It’s becoming a _problem_.

“It’s not a rough patch!” Minho cries. He wipes at his eyes, sleeves turning up wet when they pull away. Other students in the hallway continue to push past them so that they aren’t late, knocking into their arms and throwing looks at their interlocked hands. 

As if he had blown out a candle, Chan’s smile extinguishes. All hints of playfulness disappears and he panics just a bit more, framing Minho’s face before he can stop himself.

“Min—”

“You have to understand that we can’t keep doing this,” he sniffs. “You can’t help me be broken anymore, you have to hold me accountable if I’m doing something. Okay? _Okay?_ ”

It’s the most Minho has ever cried in one day, but he thinks it’s a sacrifice worth making to get somewhere better. For himself _and_ for his friends. 

Chan’s eyes glisten. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.”

-

-

Jisung’s whisper is a crack in the silence of Minho’s kitchen, hanging between them in the cooled air, “How did it go?”

While the ghost waits patiently on the counter, Minho sits at the table, wiping his eyes as the day’s nerves finally start to relieve. He’s exhausted, but his chest and head feel lighter than they have in a long time, and it’s a very good thing. 

Half a smile comes to him. “It went well,” he says, not as quiet but equally sincere. “I feel better. Because of you. Thank you.”

If ghosts can blush Jisung does so in that moment, a feeling of pride blossoming in both of their chests. From now on, things can improve, and Minho is ready to try a few things, feel better about who he is and manage his time.

With Jisung and Felix and even Chan, Minho knows this feeling can stay.

Minho turns his head and Jisung sits in the chair next to him, but it doesn’t even surprise him anymore. “I’m very proud of you,” the ghost compliments. “You’ve done a lot today.”

“I know.” A mixed feeling of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh washes over the junior; he realizes how tired he is and that it would be best for him to rest. If he goes to bed early, he can wake up a little earlier to finish his work for tomorrow.

“Do you want to sleep?” Jisung laughs. Minho nods. “Go. Rest. I’ll fight anyone who tries to wake you.”

What Minho loves about Jisung is that he never really leaves. Even if he isn’t always seen, Jisung is almost always felt, and as a very lonely person at home, that matters to Minho. With Jisung around, he feels protected because he knows the ghost cares about him and will do whatever it takes to help. 

Jisung is a part of Minho’s life that no one in his friends or family could replace. His constant looming yet pleasant presence, with him through every good or bad moment, forces a bond stronger than anything Minho has felt with anyone else.

In the future, if Jisung is able to move on or when Minho leaves home, he will never forget the kind of support that gives him.

As Minho falls onto his bed, crashing onto his pillows and immediately beginning to fall asleep, it feels as if someone is holding his hand. It's comforting. It's safe.

It's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally over thank god,,, this ending is like half the length of the second chapter, but i'm really done with having this be incomplete, so i finished off what i had. i don't think this work is my best writing, but it's enjoyable enough and deserves to be finished.
> 
> see ya~

**Author's Note:**

> so? ok?? 
> 
> i wanted to get this out of the way, but i don't have a schedule for the other two chapters. i kind of expected this one to be longer but it just didnt happen, so we'll see how the other chapters go !
> 
> students out there take care of yourselves especially,, everyone though please remember to eat and drink and sleep!!


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